How the Feather Falls
by Spray-Painted Roses
Summary: Sam and Deam are in small town investigating a string of disappearances. Then they meet a teenage boy who looks into their minds just by looking at them, and a lot more besides.
1. Chapter 1

_The shirt fell to the ground. His pale green eyes glanced over his shoulder into the mirror. He flinched at the sight of them, remembering the as their original light brown. Reminded, once again, of the pain of his transformation._

_It had been worth it though. His eyes were his true ones now._

_His eyes turned back to the destination they had originally intended. That hadn't been what he had originally intended. Maybe they were just some weird side effect of the ritual. _

_Picking his shirt off the tiled floor, a horrifying idea jumped from oblivion into his mind. What if some entity, a demon or something, had interfered with the awakening of his true self, what his soul looked like. It would be catastrophic. It might change his soul._

_That didn't happen, he assured himself. He had spent weeks of preparation to make sure something like that didn't happen._

_With a twinge of unease, he pulled his shirt back on. He was fine._

_Falling easily into an almost meditative state, induced by long practice, he calmed himself, banishing the harassing thoughts from just a moment ago._

_But the teenager had a lot to worry about. Overnight, a strange image had appeared on his back._

_A pair of tattooed wings._

_**Thank you for reading. Please review, it keeps me motivated to write.**_

_**I'd like to Alice Hoffman, author of Incantation, for the poem that now adorns my profile.**_

_**I would also like to thank every single one of my friends.**_

_**You are what keeps me going.**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the Wincester brothers.**

**But think of all the fun for the fangirls if I did.**

**Mwahahahahahahahahaha!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second chapter. Please review, I really appreciate your feedback.**

**This chapter I would like to thank Holly Black and Garth Nix, for inspiring me. **

**But my greatest thanks goes to my friend Kat. **

**Thank you for listening and making me laugh, even when I'm depressed.**

"We've got a lead." That one phrase, uttered countless times, was enough to set them driving to Massachusetts.

Sam sat shotgun in the sleek black Impala. He tapped quickly at the keyboard, futilely trying to drown out the hideous sound of Black Sabbath pounding the air.

Dean's music was horrible.

Finally, unable to take anymore of the annoying music, he smacked the radio's stop button.

"What the hell Sammy?" Dean said.

"Your music sucks. Plain and simple. Deal with it Dean."

Dean muttered something under his breath about throwing someone out the window. Why couldn't his little brother appreciate good music?

"So what about that lead? The town was something with a B. B… B… Bel…"

"Havoc."

"Oh." The older of the two brothers looked away in embarrassment.

"It's in the western part of the state. Over the past fifteen years people have been going missing. Then, after three weeks or so, one or more of the other family members ends up brutally killed."

"Woh. Seems like whatever's doing this is pretty thorough. What do you think? Maybe a ghost, or a curse, or something."

"No Dean, don't think either one of them could have done it. A ghost would have just killed them all, not had one of the people disappear. And its too complicated for a curse, unless someone there is directing it."

"Well, we'll get there, kick the thing's ass, and leave. I also heard that there are some hot chicks in Massachusetts." Dean smiled lustily at the thought.

"Is sex the only thing you ever think about Dean?" Sam demanded, "You're just like a teenager. It's really annoying."

"I know Sammy. Its one of the reasons I don't keep my thoughts to myself. Your reactions are better than cable."

Sam sighed wearily. It was going to be a long ride.

The shiny black Impala cruised into the parking lot of the Broken Train Inn. Dean opened the door and got out followed shortly by Sam.

"The Broken Train Inn. What kind of name is that?" Dean asked mockingly.

"In 1993 a train crashed into the original building. Strangely enough, only two people died."

Both turned around to see a blonde woman in a tight black shirt and blue jeans.

"But that's impossible. There aren't any train tracks around here," Sam replied.

"That's true. There aren't. But somehow it happened anyway," the woman stuck out her hand, "Hi my name's Jean. Jean Masters."

Sam shivered. Seemingly unaware of his brother's reaction, Dean shook the Jean's hand. "Our names are Sam," he pointed to his brother, "and Dean O'Harrold. We're reporters from the Rose Press. We're researching the disappearance's that have been happening here over the last decade and a half."

"Well it's about time." Jean said haughtily.

"What?" asked a surprised Sam, "No other reporters have come about the disappearances or the murders?"

"Nope. Somehow our town never makes the news. And we have the highest death rate in the state. Its really strange." The woman glanced at her watch, "I've got to go. I'll see you guys around." She smiled at them, and then strolled over to a blue sedan.

Dean turned to his brother, "What was with you when she told us her name?"

"Masters was Meg's last name."

**Thanks for reading. You all are amazing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I think its time that I thanked Supernatural's producer, Eric Kripke.**

**Thank you for not suing me for making your world my own.**

**I'll also thank Shelby and Ilana.**

**Shelby because you're insane, but we all love you anyway.**

**And Ilana, because I know it'll piss you off.**

_Six black candles rested on the low table._

_The teenage boy hovered over them, wondering if what he was about to do would solve his problem._

_He crossed the room to a dresser. Opening the top drawer he pulled out a pad of paper, a pen, and a small vial of mustard yellow liquid._

_Quickly scribbling something on the pad, he ripped of the sheet of paper and placed it in the center of circle of candles. Grabbing the cork of the vial in his teeth, the boy pulled it out, and began to slowly pour the mixture of herbs and that yellow liquid onto the page._

_With pale green eyes he watched as the liquid sluggishly soaked the square of white. Impatiently he flicked a finger._

_Flames erupted in a miniature explosion from the candle's wicks._

_The boy crossed his legs, and rested his elbows on the table, and recited,_

"_**Cease, desist, rend, and tear apart.**_

_**Dissolve, divided, detached and disunited.**_

_**I call the earth to bind my spell**_

_**Air to speed its travel well**_

_**Fire to slash and destroy their bond**_

_**Water to protect me from harm.**_

_**So mote it be!"**_

_The teen sat back in a self-satisfied silence._

_And then jumped in alarm._

_The paper was on fire._

_He glanced at the candles, noting that they hadn't been knocked over. If that hadn't been the cause what had?_

_His knee shifted as he tried to find the source of the fire. Something cold touched it. He looked down. There were water droplets in a circle around him._

_His face slowly broke into a smile._

_He blew out the candles and knocked them off as he ran his hands over the table. _

_His smile grew even bigger, because, sure enough, there was rich dark dirt sprinkled on the table._

_He laughed, a wild rumble of joy._

_He had somehow actually summoned the four elements._

**Thank you for reading. Please review.**

**I would also like to thank Dudette Kika, my one and only reviewer.**

**My most profound appreciation goes to you.**


	4. Chapter 4

**If you haven't noticed yet, I like thanking people who've helped me out at the beginning and end of my chapters.**

**Seriously, if you haven't you're really slow.**

**This chapter I'm thanking Nicki Aycox, the actor who played Meg in season one.**

**Thank you for providing such an interesting character.**

**I'd also like to thank my friend Monica.**

**Thank you for letting me pick on you all these years.**

Sam and Dean sat in a bakery drinking coffee.

"I can't believe we're eating in a bakery. What are we, chicks?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Well I'm not. You on the other hand I'm not so sure." Sam said laughingly, easily dodging a blow to the face from Dean.

Glumly taking a sip of his coffee, Dean asked, "So who was the last person to disappear? Maybe we can get some info out of their families."

Sam pulled out his laptop, and started tapping away at the keyboard. After a few moments he announced, "Well we can't talk to the Fog family. They're all dead. They died in a robbery at their home from a thief who didn't take anything. But it says here that one of their kid's friends was also in the house at the time, and the shooter didn't kill her."

"Well then, we ask her a few questions, pressure her a little when she doesn't comply, and find out any suspicious info."

"Dean, she's 15. We can't just barge into her house and attack her with questions about something she's probably still dealing with. Here's what we should do. We ask some of her friends if they know anything about what happened and if they have any people to suspect, like enemies or something."

"How many enemies can this fifteen-year old, what's her name, oh here it is, Melanie Woodridge, have."

"Dean, if you need an answer to that question, it'll be obvious to everyone you never went through high school."

"But I didn't."

"And that's why we don't have normal jobs."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey. **

**This chapter I'd like to thank Silver Ravenwolf.**

**Your many books have helped me so much.**

**I'd also like to thank my teacher Hatim Abuselmi.**

**You were the coolest teacher ever.**

**Thank you for never judging me, no matter how I acted.**

Sam and Dean stepped out of thebakery and began walking toward the Impala.

"So we ask this girl Melanie's friends if she had any _enemies_," Dean scornfully said for the third time.

Sam sighed. Then he calmly replied, "Do you have a better plan," Dean began to say something, "that doesn't involve scarring her emotionally." Sam finished, cutting Dean off.

"What's wrong with a little scarring for life, you little bi-," There was a loud crash of something hitting the ground.

Dean jumped in surprise. "What the hell was that?" he said, "Come on Sammy lets go see."

They both set off at a run towards the source of the noise, which now hosted the sounds of a bunch of jeering people.

The brothers turned into a nearby alley, only to find a bunch of high school kids threatening a boy who stood up against the wall.

"Where are your freak friends now? They won't be able to help you, you won't get away from us this time." One of the larger boys said cruelly. He laughed, a loud and obnoxious sound.

"Please," a haughty voice replied, "I can take all of you by myself. Now get out of my way unless you have some secret masochistic desire."

Dean looked around looking for the owner of the voice. Then he realized it was the kid in the black hoodie, up against the wall. This kid had serious problems if he thought he could take all of them.

"You must have major issues if you think you can get past all of us," a different boy said, echoing Dean's thoughts.

"Oh I'm so scared. Take mercy on me," the boy said, but the laugh in his voice was obvious.

"You're really pissing me off." The original threatener pulled a long switchblade from his jacket pocket.

"Woh. This is not going well. Sammy we should help this kid out."

"Wait give him a second. Maybe he is as good as he says."

"And pigs fly."

"Ya never know."

They turned their attention back to the situation.

The threatenee laughed mockingly. He reached into the pocket of his black jeans. He fumbled around for a moment the produced a small cloth bag.

His attackers roared with laughter. "What is that, crack? Gonna sprinkle us with that ya little stoner," they all laughed louder.

Then they were suddenly yelling and attacking each other. 

The ex-future-victim gave a self satisfied smile, and disappeared.

"Did you see that Dean?"

"Yeah. I think we may have found our killer."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi.**

**I'd like to thank Cassandra Clare, author of City of Bones.**

**Your book was one of my many inspirations.**

**I'm also thanking everyone in my Latin class.**

**Without you, school would be hell.**

_He lay on the bed, bleeding._

_What was their problem? He hadn't done anything to them. Well, at least that he was aware of._

_He stood up, stifling a yell of pain. He needed to clean out the wounds._

_He stumbled to his door. He leaned against the wall, gasping at that small exertion._

_The door opened with a creak. There in the hall stood his father. _

"_How was school?" the man asked, idiotically unaware of his son's pain._

"_It was fine. Now go away."_

"_You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."_

"_Yeah, Dad." As if he hadn't heard that a million times before. And whenever he tried to tell him something he wouldn't listen. The jerk._

_His father sighed, and then closed the door._

_The boy waited a moment, leaning there until his father was far enough away to get to the bathroom._

_Using the wall as support, he limped out of his room and went down to the bathroom._

_Glancing into the mirror, he flinched at the sight of his face. It was striped with bloody cuts from the stones they had thrown at him. How could that fool not notice them._

_Simple. You don't notice what you don't care about._

_With a moan of pain he pulled of the black hoodie he was wearing. He reached up and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out the bottle of antiseptic. He ripped of his plain, white, blood-stained t-shirt. He ran his hands over his chest, wincing at each touch of a cut or bruise._

_Taking a deep breath, he pushed his shoulder length, black, blonde streaked hair out of his eyes. Then he splashed the antiseptic over his chest._

_He screamed in pain as his wounds fizzed from the clear liquid. How could they do this to him?_

_He turned around, looking over his shoulder into the mirror with his pale green eyes. He once again stared at the tattooed wings on his back. Where had they come from, he asked himself for the thousandth time._

_Moving his eyes down his back, he glanced at the cuts on his lower back. They were bruised and battered, but he didn't have the energy to even lift the bottle._

_He fell to the tiled floor. Even in his fatigue, his flame of rage had not extinguished. He remembered the looks on the murderous jocks faces as he had sprinkled the ashes of the paper, on which he had written their names._

_He laughed at the thought, but it turned into a moan as pain racked his body._

_Lost in the murky waters of memory once again, he recalled his macho threats and his fearless taunts. Had that been him?_

_And who had those men at the alley's mouth? Why hadn't they helped him?_

_He felt water on his cheeks. He reached up to shut of the faucet, but realized they were his own tears._

_A sob racked his body, just as the pain had a moment ago. He lay there, weeping from pain and anger and suppressed fear._

_After a few minutes, he fell into a deep sleep, induced by exhaustion, pain, rage, and tears._

_He shifted in his slumber as something tickled his back._

_The feathers of his tattoo seemed to rustle in a nonexistent breeze. The tattooed layer flesh melted away, revealing white feathers. And attached to these feathers were two long appendages. They unfolded revealing what they truly were._

_Now Angel had his wings._

**Thank you for reading. Please review.**

**I'd like to thank my reviewer duo, Dudette Kika and WofOZ.**

**You both are awesome.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter I'm thanking the Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry.**

**Thank you for all your gifts.**

**I would also like to thank everyone in my Drama class.**

**You all rule.**

**Except for those of you who suck.**

**You know who you are.**

_**Author's Note: **_

**I don't want to portray some witches as demon worshipping, curse flinging freaks.**

**It's just how they are portrayed in the show.**

**Most witches are nice people, and evil witches are called warlocks.**

**In this fic warlocks are creatures born with innate magical powers.**

**Real witches don't even believe in demons or Satan.**

**Though some of the witches in this fic worship demons, the cool ones don't.**

**And remember, witchcraft is a religion, and religious discrimination is wrong. **

Sam and Dean sat in their room in the Broken Train Inn, trying to figure out what the disappearing boy was.

"He's probably a demon. You know, the whole disappearing thing. Ruby can do it."

Sam said.

Their door slammed into the wall and a blonde woman stormed into the room.

"Speak of the Devil," Dean remarked, "Literally."

"Very funny Dean. Now what the hell are you two of you doing here?"

"We're on a hunt. And since when did you care where we went?" Dean replied angrily.

"Do you even know where you are?"

"Yeah. We're in some dumb town in Massachusetts, which happens to have the highest death rate in the state."

"No. You're in Havoc. The witchcraft capital of the U.S."

"I thought that was New Orleans."

"That's hoodoo, you dumb ass. Now get the hell out of town. The last thing either of you needs is a curse on you."

"We're sorry Ruby," Sam said apologetically, "But there's a hunt here, and we need to stop whatever's killing these people. And making others disappear."

"And," Dean mocked, "we're sick of you bossing us around. We can take whatever the hell this thing is. So get the hell out of our way."

There was a sudden pressure at Dean's throat, and for a moment he groped at his throat. Then he was catapulted into the wall, suspended there by an invisible force.

Sam gaped for a moment at Dean then turned to Ruby.

She was a approaching Dean, open hand outstretched.

"The only thing you seem to understand," she pushed forward with her hand, causing Dean to gasp, "Is physical force. So I'm going to put this very simple terms. Some people in this town can kill you with a glance. They can burn you with a touch. They can unravel your very soul with your name. Now was that too much for your meager intellect to handle?"

Dean shook his head, still gasping for air.

"Good," her hand dropped, causing Dean to fall in a heap to the ground, "so leave town immediately. I don't want to be cleaning up your corpses."

"Again, I'm sorry Ruby, we can't," Sam said, "there's a job here. And if this is the witchcraft capital of the US then we know what's probably doing this. A witch."

"Possibly. But where witches gather vampires, demons, and other creatures flock. At a safe distance of course. Its all that leftover power. They feed on it and become stronger." Ruby said, nearly shooting down his idea down, but missing narrowly.

"So back to the drawing board," Dean groaned, "so the only lead we have is Miss Melanie Woodridge. And the only enemies Melanie or Jessica Fog had was a dog down the street. So we have talk to her directly."

_The next day…_

Two men stood at the door of 121 Thorn Street. The man on the left reached up a hand, hesitated, then knocked loudly three times.

They both stood there for a moment, strung tight as guitar strings, easily falling into casual smiles as a pretty brown haired girl answered the door.

"Hello. Our names are Sam and Dean O'Harrold. We're from the Rose Press. Is Miss Melanie Woodridge here?"

"This is she," the girl replied lustily, staring at the long-haired half of the duo.

"As I've said we've from the Rose Press. We'd like to ask you some questions about what happened at the Fog residence, when the Fogs were killed," the shorter of the two said quickly.

The girl's face didn't freeze in haunted horror, but contorted in rage.

"Ask the son of a bitch down at 56 Wheel Lane. He'll tell you exactly how Jessica and her family died." And slammed the door in their faces.

"Ok that was thoroughly weird," Dean said.

"Yeah. But lets head over to that address. We might actually get somewhere."


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry I haven't updated in like forever.**

**My Muse has been taking me other places.**

**Like my FictionPress account.**

**Anyway, thanks for waiting.**

Sam and Dean sat on a couch, waiting.

A moderately tall brown haired man walked in, "Hi. My name's Mike. And you are…?"

"Sam and Dean O'Harrold," Sam said standing up, "We're from the Rose Press. We heard from someone you had some information on the Fog murder."

The man shook his head, "It was so tragic. They were such good people. But I've got nothing. Wait, one of my sons used to hang around with their daughter. Maybe he could tell you something."

"Well every little bit helps," Dean said, mentally gritting his teeth this was getting nowhere. "Maybe we'll get something useful."

"Okay, I'll get him for you. Ange!" he hollered up the stairs.

No response.

"Come on let's go get him." Mike said.

They went up the stairs to a wood-paneled hallway. They went down the hall a bit, and the man pushed open a door and the trio went into the room.

Dean looked around. White walls, white wooden bunk bed, blue comforter, sports posters, and it seemed like a normal room.

"Hey Ange, these guys are reporters. They'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened to Jessica."

Dean watched as the kid on the bed turned his head to look at his father, while Sam looked around in confusion from the room, to the kid, to his father.

The short brown-haired kid stared at his father with his light brown eyes. They seemed to flash green for a moment.

Out of nowhere Dean had a sudden urge to go back to the inn and start boozing up. To lose himself in the comforting haze of drunkenness. Well he might as well go nothing interesting here. He started to walk out but something anchored him there. He tried to get away, but the force holding his arm wouldn't let go.

Sam started panicking. What was wrong with Dean? He had been acting strange ever since the kid with the weird blurry face and room looked at him.

Dean pulled again, on the verge of tears trying to get away. Sam looked at him in horror.

His big brother, his protector, was crying trying to get away from his grip. What was happening? His panic mounted, and he sucker-punched his brother right in the face.

WHACK!

Dean stumbled backwards. "What was that for you little bitch?"

"Dean, I think this kid just pulled some mojo on you."

"Well it seems like the cat's out of bag."

They both turned to the kid. His lips hadn't moved when he spoke.

His body seemed to steam for a moment, and then the boy's face seemed to melt away, leaving another obscured face in its place. The tendrils of steam uncurled and drifted to the walls, hungrily crawling along. Soon the entire room was covered in a thin layer of gaseous mist.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean nearly shouted.

The figure's finger moved to its lips with clear meaning. Shut up.

The mist began to dissolve and when it cleared the brothers' eyes widened.

The room was completely changed.

The walls were black and plastered with posters of bands. Occult objects were scattered everywhere, and there was a small altar in the corner. A bookcase stuffed with books, occult and otherwise. But when Dean eyes fell upon the boy again, his breath caught.

The kid had long black hair, streaked with blonde. He wore tight black jeans, with a black studded belt. Chains hung from the belt, and he wore a black shirt with skulls on it.

And he was drop dead sexy.

Dean was straight and he thought that. Pretty impressive.

Dean shook his head. What was up with him today?

He turned to look at his brother to see him gaping at the boy lustily as well. Had the both suddenly gone gay?

The boy smiled at them mischievously, "Oh sorry. I forgot how much I affect normal people. Wow. It's kinda strange to have two apparently straight guys gaping at me like they want to get in my pants. Well anyway…"

Again the mist curled around his body, groping at him hungrily. (Not like that, you pervs.) His glow seemed to diminish, leaving two gaping men now paralyzed by horror.

"I just… You just… What the hell did you do?!" Dean shouted at him angrily.

"Hey, calm down. It's not like it's my fault. I'm just naturally attractive. In a magical sort of way." The boy grinned.

"You made us… Oh forget it." Sam said wearily, "Let's just ask our questions, or kick his ass, and then ask some questions."

"I'm all for the kicking his ass part," Dean raged, "he made us... attracted to him. And we're straight. That's not cool, you little bastard."

"I know. But it wouldn't have worked if something wasn't already there," Dean gaped, and the boy laughed, so familiar, but Dean couldn't quite place it, "I'm kidding. But you should have seen the look on your face. Priceless."

For the first time Sam noticed the gouges across the boy's face. "Where'd you get those cuts, messing with forces you can't control? You know your soul's going to get taken, and all you got was a few measly revenges. That's what you get for worshiping demons."

The boy's eyes hardened, "I'm in control of all my forces, thank you very much. And I don't worship demons. That would be stupid and pointless," the boy stood up and his voice rose to a shout, "how dare you accuse me of something like that? And how do you know about demons anyw-," his eyes met Dean's. A rush of images ran through Dean's head. Suddenly the rush stopped, leaving the scene of a filthy room with a makeshift barricade against the wall.

Oh no, Dean thought with growing dread, don't make me see this, don't let me relive that horrible moment.

A blonde woman sat in the middle of the room tied to a chair.

"No!" she screamed, "It wasn't real, I didn't kill them. It was the drugs. Please," she sobbed, "you have to believe me."

Dean watched in horror as he continued to interrogate the girl, then watched as he and his brother killed the poor girl. Poor Lucy. But she was a danger to everyone around her. There was nothing else he could have done.

Something snapped and he was thrown back into reality. He fell to his knees, body racked with silent tears of shame.

"Hunters!" the boy shrieked in hatred, "I should have known!"

**How was that?**

**It was the longest chapter I've ever written.**

**It just kind of poured out, sorry if it was too long.**

**And just to avoid confusion, Jessica Fog is TOTALLY different from that girlfriend of Sam's who got her stomach cut open.**

**Thanks for reading, please review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry if you reviewed and I can't thank you here, I wrote this on the same day as I wrote the previous chapter.**

**Anyway, I'd like to thank the bands Paramore, Boys Like Girls, and Thousand Foot Krutch. **

**I listen to your music (and many others) as I write.**

**And I'll also thank Ms. Griffin, my most patient librarian.**

**I owe you so much. **

**But don't expect me to do you any favors. I'm not that nice.**

Angel turned to the other man.

"Hunters," he spat, "you're all alike. You claim to be warriors of good, or God, or divine vengeance, or whatever the hell your damn cause is. And you think that makes it okay to kill every 'Supernatural,' as you so laughably call them, you come across. Well you know what, it isn't. Just because they aren't human, it doesn't mean they're evil. They think, they have emotions, and though many of them kill, you can't tell the individual by the many. You are all bastards who kill just because they can," he kicked Dean's weeping body, "and they want to justify it."

Sam looked at him sadly, "That's what you think? We only kill those that kill first. That sounds pretty damn good to me."

"Once. Do you think I don't know? I saw it in Dean's mind, Sammy," Sam flinched at the sound of his nickname, "I saw you two kill that poor vampire girl. I saw you mercilessly slaughter her like an animal."

"She was dangerous. She was a danger to everyone around her. What were we supposed to do, let her run free to kill whoever she pleased?"

"No."

"_**Look into my eyes."**_

Sam heard the command, and tried not to, afraid of what he would find. Yet he found his light blue eyes look into the pale green ones of the black haired boy.

Sam's entire world seemed to shrink to those two eyes. He was losing himself in their beautiful depths. He caught a glimpse of a girl on the floor, and the illusory disguise of the boy weeping over her.

Then a river of cascading images assaulted his sight. A motel room, his father stumbling in with bloody wounds. Dean sawing of the end of a shotgun. Him passionately kissing his girlfriend Jessica, rolling on his sheets.

The images slowed and rested at one. A dark hallway, him and Dean talking in whispers.

Please, no. Sam couldn't handle seeing it again. He would brake down.

"Sammy, are sure you want to do this," Dean whispered, "I think I should do it for you. You don't need this."

"Dean please," he heard himself say again, "I need to. Don't stop me."

"Ok Sam."

He felt himself grab the steel pistol.

NO! STOP! He couldn't do this again! NO! PLEASE!

He felt himself take a deep breath, and step into the living room, his present self fighting every step, not wanting to have to watch it happen again.

He saw his werewolf lover across the room. "Forgive me," he whispered.

BANG!

He awoke from the deep recesses of memory. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he looked towards the ceiling.

And saw the pale green eyes looking down at him.

NO!

The memories rushed him again.

He stood in a dark dining room. The reformed vampire sat tied to the chair, blood leaking into her mouth, her refusing it.

Gordon trying to kill her anyway.

Sam awoke again.

"You could have sent Lucy to them," the dark haired teen said, "you could have saved her, But it was too inconvenient. Too much time for one life."

"What do you want?" Sam choked out.

"For you to leave. Hunters aren't welcome in this town. We can take care of ourselves."

"We can't. A hunt… Missing people… Murder… Freak accidents… Jean… Meg…," he moaned before falling into the inky abyss of the unconscious.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey.**

**If you've read this far you're probably sick of this doohickey.**

**If so, sucks to be you, I'm continuing.**

**Thank you, Ben, for always sticking with me.**

**And Hayley Williams? (Lead singer of Paramore)**

**You are SO hot!**

**Also, I just figured out to use this story hits thingy. **

**807 hits and 3 people reviewed.**

**What's wrong with this picture?**

Sam shot up in bed.

"MADISON!"

"Nope, it's just me."

Sam turned to the sound and fell back on the bed with a groan. Ruby.

"How did we get back?"

"Well you were lying in the middle of the street, all bloody and stuff. I dragged you back here. Figuratively speaking of course."

"What do you mean figuratively?"

"Well technically I teleported you and Dean through a quasi-Hell place to get here. Not a pretty sight. You know all those fluffy bunnies," she added.

Sam sighed at her obvious sarcasm. About the fluffy bunnies.

"I can't believe we got the crap beaten out of us by a little kid. It's kind of depressing."

He shivered at the memory of the boy's eyes.

"Well I think he's a witch, and he knows about the murders. And he hates Hunters. Maybe he's our killer. But somehow I doubt it. He started monologuing me about how we were religious fanatics, no shades of grey freaks."

He tried to pull himself up from the bed, struggling to stand.

"I wouldn't do that," Ruby advised, "you might-,"

The whole world seemed to spin. He collapsed to the floor.

"Fall," she finished, grinning.

-:-

_The room was dark. It was not an eerie dark, like the night of the full moon. But a terrifying dark, hungry, ready to swallow you whole. Waiting for the slightest weakness. And then it would strike, and you would be gone._

_A woman stood at the dresser, face veiled by shadow, apparently unaffected by the lurking presence. With a wave of her hand three black candles thunked to the dressertop. Another wave brought them aflame, creating a sphere of light against the impeding darkness._

_The woman strode across the room to a black ebony chest, barely visible in the blackness. Her hand waved again, and the clasp flipped open, and the cover to rise._

_She bent down, rifling through the chests contents for a moment. Then she stood up, clutching at her prize._

_Walking back past the room to the dresser, she plunked down the object._

_It was a miniature snarling gargoyle, stone wings outstretched, claws bared against an invisible adversary._

_The woman smiled._

_Then conjured a knife, and slit open her palm._

_Not even flinching, she turned her hand upside down, letting the blood drip onto the tiny gargoyle._

_A few tendrils of inky blackness slithered out of the dark, wrapping themselves around the six inch figure, like tiny snakes, grasping at it._

_A sudden gust of wind blew out the candles, leaving the room in darkness, and now with two brooding presences._

Sam woke with a start.

"Oh crap."

**Thank so much Dudette Kika, WofOz, and jade1056, my reviewers.**

**You are the coolest people ever, and you have kept me motivated.**


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